I ran my hands through my hair. “What do I do now?”
“Find me…” a voice whispered in my ear.
I startled, jumping to my feet. “Who said that?”
I whirled around, and a figure stood before me, his back facing me, his gaze lifted toward the sky. The sun had broken free, turning the drops of rain to diamonds. A band of a rainbow appeared, before fading back into the heavy charcoal clouds.
The man wore a suit, and I recognized his white hair from my dream.
“Are you Bel?” I said in a quiet voice.
He nodded. “Ask the Queen. Seek me out, and you shall find yourself back in time.”
“What queen?” I said. “Why can’t you take me back now? You’re a god. You could do it.”
“Not now…” he whispered. “Not yet…”
“Why not?” I insisted, my heart racing.
“Find me,” he replied. “The Queen will know…”
He faded into the rain, the last of the rays of sunlight shrouded by clouds. I lunged for his disappearing shoulder, but only ended up face down in the wet grass.
“Dammit!” I cried, slamming my fist into the mud.
I stared out into the distance, seeking the ghostly figure, but the rain continued to fall harder, rumbles of thunder in the distance. I thought of what Morven had said about Bel as a spirit who walked the earth, protecting us from the Morrígan and her chaotic forces. He wanted me to find the queen, but what queen? And she would direct me to him, but how? Where? Taking a deep breath, I stood up and grabbed my pack, turning to face the wind and the pelting rain.
Which way now? Bel was a sun god, so probably east would be the best option, but which way was east? The rain poured down, drenching my hair and shoulders. I guess it didn’t matter which way I went if I died of hypothermia. Twisting my hair up into a bun, I started marching, not caring about my direction as long as I could find some sort of shelter before night fell.
Within minutes of walking, my feet were soaked, my boots squelching with rainwater. I kept on, driving hard against the storm. A great roll of thunder sounded behind me, and it took me a few minutes to realize the low murmur kept on, growing louder and louder. I ran in the opposite direction, my breath loud in my ears, but the low rumble turned to a roar of galloping hooves. Behind me, a stampede of black cattle swooped down the hill, snorting and grunting, their great horns gleaming, their nostrils blowing great puffs of air. The smooth grass turned to ribbons beneath their hooves, and with a yelp, I scrambled out of the way right before one of the beasts barreled into me.
Masculine whoops and cries echoed across the plain, and a band of riders followed the herd, riding at a breakneck speed. Bewildered from the sudden appearance of the mass of cattle, I had no time to hide. One of the riders spied me and pointed a giant spear at my direction. Even from far away, I could spot Celtic swirls twisting and turning over his armor, and I knew that, at the very least, I had come to the right time.
He lunged toward me. Panic seized my lungs, my heart pounding. I closed my eyes for a moment, pooling my energy to travel out of there. But instead, I let out a long exhale, willing myself to stay put. I was just a girl. Lost in a field. Asking for directions. They had no reason to bash my head in. Or, you know, whatever ancient Celts were wont to do. Human sacrifice. Filleting. Tying me up by my own entrails and burning me alive.
“Identify yourself,” a masculine voice bellowed in Old Irish.
I snapped open my eyes and came face to face with a spear. A very sharp, very deadly-looking spear. I glanced up at the person wielding it and choked back a scream. Blue and black paint covered the man’s face, and every other space of his skin swirled with intricate Celtic tattoos. His matted dreadlocked hair stood straight from his skull, twisting up from the crown of his head at bizarre angles, giving the ghastly appearance of a cracked-out Medusa. Beads and silver medallions dangled from the ropes of hair, grazing against the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. His dark eyes pierced through me, his mouth twisted in a snarl, flashing blackened and cracked teeth.
I swallowed hard. “Um…hi?”
He thrust his spear, and the razor-sharp tip pricked at my chin.
“Identify yourself!” he ordered again.
I stepped back, blinking hard. Oh, shit. Right. Old Irish.
“I’m a pilgrim,” I said in the ancient language, racking my brain to remember the antiquated equivalent to each word. “I’m seeking out Bel’s…um…” Shit, what was the word? “Temple! Bel’s temple.”
He tilted his head to the side and belted out a barking laugh before thrusting his spear toward my face.
“Foreigner,” he bellowed. “There is no Bel’s temple.”
Two other riders flanked the one with the spear, and both of them brandished weapons. An ax. A longsword. Awesome. One of the riders was a woman, her blond hair twisting up into a giant braided bun on her head.
The speared Medusa called to his friends. “What do we do with her?”
The Celt with the ax shrugged. “Sell her off in the slave yards?”
I shrank away, swallowing a whimper. “I’m just a humble traveler. Please let me be on my way.”
The blonde woman arched an eyebrow. “Probably an Ulster spy,” she said in a clipped voice. “Kill her.”
Before I could blink, the man sent his spear slicing through the air. I blasted a round of Aisling energy, throwing the rider off his horse, his spear flying wildly out into the field.
The man with the ax roared, rearing his horse and swinging the giant weapon. I pelted him with another blast of energy and then transported myself five feet away.
“Listen.” I raised my hands in warning. “I’m not a spy. I’m just looking for Bel. Do you know where I can find him?”
The blond woman shifted in her saddle, rearing her horse. “You are a sorceress?”
I hesitated, the word “no” lingering on my lips, but then I reconsidered. Let them think that, and perhaps they’d leave me alone. I threw my shoulders back and lifted my chin. “Yes, I am,” I replied. “I am a great sorceress seeking out the god Bel. Can you help me?”
The blond woman flew off her horse, and her hand flexed and settled on the pommel of her sword. Her leather tunic creaked with every step, her powerful legs cutting through the grass.
“I know someone who may help you, sorceress.” She flashed me a wide smile. “For a price.”
“What price?” I stood my ground, leveling the warrior woman with what I hoped was a hard stare.
“Whatever Queen Maeve demands,” she replied.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. Of course. The Queen. Not just any old queen, but Queen Maeve herself. Morven had dropped me right smack in the middle of an Irish legend. Could she lead me to Bel?
“Then, I will hear her demands,” I said after a long pause.
She called after the man with the ax, who muttered something beneath his breath. She gave him a cold stare, and he shook his head, his burly body toppling from his horse. He handed me the reins with a grunt.
“Follow us,” the warrior woman called over her shoulder.
I studied the giant beast, its large brown eyes rolling in its head. What the hell was I supposed to do with this thing? The last time I had ridden a horse was a pony at a kid’s birthday party.
“I’m not”—I cleared my throat—“that is…”
“Follow us.” The woman’s voice caught on the wind, and two other Celts flanked her side.
“Shit,” I said under my breath.
The axman’s gaze swept up from my feet to the crown of my head. Before I could blink, he grabbed me by the waist and placed me square on the horse’s back. With a low grunt, he heaved himself behind me, and we were off, the wind whipping through my hair. The cold rain had settled into a fine mist, dampening my hot cheeks. The beast thundered across the plain toward
distant hills, and I held fast to its long mane, my hulking horseman keeping his distance as far as his saddle would allow. This was fine by me, because apparently the Celts hadn’t yet discovered the fine art of bathing.
After an hour of hard riding, we crested a great hill, and a wave of sound nearly knocked me off the horse. A military encampment as far as I could see roiled across an endless field. Soldiers clambered in between rows and rows of tents, the clank and hiss of blacksmiths forging weapons and the shouts of drillmasters ringing through the air. This was it. The warriors Queen Maeve had amassed. Of course I had read about it from the Táin Bó Cúailnge, the ancient Irish epic, but nothing could have prepared me for the massive collection of humanity bustling about as far as the horizon. How had she accomplished such a feat? I could barely keep a single scouting party together without it breaking into chaos.
We weaved through the encampment until we arrived at the center, an opulent red tent signifying the temporary house of royalty. My riding companion dismounted and unceremoniously set me on the ground. I staggered, my spine creaking and my thighs aching from the strain of muscles I never knew I possessed.
The warrior woman snatched my arm and dragged me into the tent.
Shadows greeted us and the acrid scent of incense burned my nostrils. I peered through the low light, my eyes adjusting to seek out a tall figure perched on a great wooden throne. Two hounds slumbering at her feet scrambled to standing, their fangs barred. The warrior woman called something out to them I didn’t understand, and they sat as docile as puppies, their eyes following her every move until we stood before a gilded throne.
“Scáthach,” the woman I assumed was Queen Maeve drawled. She sat in darkness, her features a blur in the shadows.
I started, reeling around to face the fierce woman clutching my elbow. Scáthach, the legendary trainer of Cuchulainn? Scholars said she’s only a myth. No one knew if she had ever even existed, and yet there she stood, her fingernails digging into my arm. My circumstances had just become that much stranger.
“A sorceress, my Queen,” Scáthach replied.
Maeve raised her chin, waving her away. “I have enough sorcerers.”
Scáthach glanced over at me with a frown, shifting from foot to foot. “She threw Arlo right off his horse. I blinked and she disappeared, only to reappear several feet away.”
The Queen sat up in her seat and leaned forward. Poets had long detailed Maeve’s beauty, but nothing could have prepared me for her goddess-like features. Wide green eyes peered out from a perfectly symmetrical face. She possessed cheekbones that could cut glass and a bold chin that reminded me of a fox. Gold medallions dangled from her ears, catching threads of light streaming through the seams of the tent, and long auburn hair flowed down her chest to her lap, her full lips pursed as if she had just delivered the punchline to a perfect joke. When her body shifted, it did so with the languid movement of a river, blue velvet shimmering and draping her curves. She filled up the space around her as if she had a right to the world. Even the oxygen in the room seemed to bend to her, my own breath slowing down to match the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
“Are you sure you have not been riding too long, Scáthach?” She blinked slowly, her long eyelashes casting shadows down her smooth cheeks.
Scáthach pushed me forward. “Show her.”
I staggered, and with the grace of a Mack truck, I kneeled down before Maeve, my elbow resting on my knee.
“Queen Maeve,” I said, studying the delicate weave of the rug on the floor. “I am here because you know how I can find the god Bel. If you aid me on my quest, I will aid you with my magic.”
A sharp jab sent me sprawling to the ground, clutching at my rib cage, pulsating with pain. Through blurred vision, I spied Scáthach, the butt of her spear raised and aimed at my face.
“Witch!” she hissed. “The Queen does not barter, especially with the likes of you.”
I held out a trembling hand. “But you said—”
Scáthach lifted her spear, and I rolled out of the way, seconds before it landed on what would have been the bridge of my nose. I pounced to my feet, taking tentative steps to the side to avoid her assault.
“Look”—I scrambled behind a chair—“I really don’t have time—”
Scáthach kicked out and the chair splintered into a hundred pieces. I toppled to the floor, flinching from the crash of wood. She raised her spear, and I held up my palm, sending a blast of energy to keep her still.
“I mean it!” Focusing a little more force, I sent her flying across the tent until she stumbled and landed in a heap, her spear clattering beside her. She reached for something in her heel, and I almost didn’t register the flash of knives flying in the air. With a surge of my Aisling energy, I stopped their momentum, forcing them to tumble to the ground.
“Look, I can do this all day,” I said, which was only partially true. Sooner or later, my powers would get the best of me.
Scáthach let out a snarl, but Maeve’s low voice cut through the tension between us.
“Enough,” she snapped. Turning to me, her eyes studied every inch of my form, lingering at my tattered T-shirt beneath my cloak. “You are a stranger to these lands. Who are your people?”
“The…the…” I hesitated for a moment. “The O’Connells. From Connacht.”
Maeve’s eyes twinkled. “A kinswoman, then.” She drummed her fingers on the armrest of her throne. “How is it that I have not heard of you and your power?”
“My father wished to keep it secret, my lady,” I replied. Partly true, if anything ever was. “I merely come to you today because you might know where I could find the god Bel.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I may know how to call Bel, but there is a price. Why do you seek him?”
I glanced over at Scáthach, her eyes full of hot rage.
“I… I need to return to someone.” I swallowed hard, thinking of Finn waiting for me back at Morven’s tent. “Bel can help me find him.”
Maeve arched an eyebrow. “Him? So your love is a man?”
I nodded.
“Men,” she sneered. “Worthless creatures.”
I shut my mouth tight, thinking of Maeve’s endless string of lovers and how she used them like Kleenex. “This particular one has sentimental value to me.”
She sat still, wisps of incense blurring her features.
Scáthach approached her, her arms crossing tight across her chest. “Let me kill her,” she murmured.
Maeve raised a hand to silence her. “You say you have magic that can aid me. What else can you do?”
I shrugged. “What do you need?”
She smiled and stood up, her robes flying behind her in waves of blue silk. “Follow me, sorceress.”
She swept past me, the spicy scent of her perfume lingering like a seductive caress. Scáthach gestured for me to walk behind the Queen, and the warrior woman trudged behind me, her leather armor creaking with each heavy step. My skin prickled with the force of her gaze as we walked through the entrance of the tent and back out to the encampment. A pale sun had broken through the storm clouds, shafts of afternoon sunlight blinding me as we marched through the sea of tents. Soldiers bent on their knees as Maeve passed, a hush passing through the rabble of male voices until everyone knelt, the sun showering them all with bright orange halos, highlighting the wiry hairs of their beards, the hard glints in their eyes. I had never seen anyone command so many so effortlessly, and I shivered at the sight, the depth of her power.
Maeve led us to the foot of a hill and she started to climb, glancing back at me. “What do they call you, sorceress?”
“Elizabeth,” I answered, huffing up the steep ascent. “Elizabeth Tanner.”
“Elizabeth Tanner.” She mimicked my flat American accent, rolling the vowels around her mouth. “That is not an O’Connell name.”
My voice wavered. “No, they, um, the O’Connells adopted me, I guess you could say.”
Scáthach snorted behind me. “Adopted. Do you expect us to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” I snapped over my shoulder.
“You will,” she murmured, “when I slit your throat in your sleep.”
I repressed a shudder, hurrying to keep up with the Queen.
“I come from a foreign land,” I began again, forcing my voice to remain steady. “From across the sea.”
Maeve paused, and I almost fell into her. “You’re not lying, sorceress, but I don’t believe you are being completely honest, either.”
The telltale sound of a sword slipping from its sheath echoed behind me. A cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and I took a deep breath, lifting my hands.
“You don’t need my honesty as much as you need my power, Your Highness,” I said. “I am here seeking out the god Bel. I will do what you ask in exchange for information.
Maeve turned, a smirk playing on her lips. “If you do what I ask, I will show you the way to Bel.” Her eyes narrowed, darkening. “But if you fail, you will burn like the witch you are.”
I stifled a laugh. Maeve could certainly try to light a fire under my ass, but I could always teleport out of there.
“Fine with me.” I dropped my hands. “But I won’t fail.”
She laughed, clapping her hand on my shoulder. “I like your confidence, Elizabeth Tanner. But you do not know your foe.”
When have I ever?
I gestured to the crest of the hill. “Will you show me?”
Echoes from the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 8
